


Even Unto the Seventh Generation

by AnneNeville



Series: The Even Unto the Seventh Generation Universe [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-24 09:07:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneNeville/pseuds/AnneNeville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Scorpius resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry"-DH, 756. As the children of the leading figures of the last Wizarding War enter their first year at Hogwarts, they struggle to come to terms with their identities in relationship to their famous or notorious parents. At the same time, a shocking political shift forces wizards everywhere to reconsider their beliefs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Fathers and Sons

_"[Scorpius] resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry." - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 756._

Nestled against the window of an empty train compartment, an unremarkable-looking boy sat curled up with a heavy book. His dirty-blond hair fell over his forehead and his eyes were cast in shadow as he turned the book towards the window. He rubbed his freckled nose absent-mindedly. The fine, elaborate script and complicated diagrams which covered the pages were not easy to decipher, especially in dim light. Outside the window, he could hear the hubbub of students and parents laughing, crying, and saying goodbye before their journey on the Hogwarts Express.

He hadn't wanted to be a part of all that chaos: the noise, the crowd, and the exuberant greetings of friends who probably hadn't even written to each other all summer were overwhelming. Instead, he'd shaken his dad's hand and kissed his mum's cheek as fast as he could, then dragged his trunk onto the train to find a quiet corner to himself. So far, he'd succeeded. As the other children passed his compartment, most looked him over with disinterest and passed on, searching for their friends. When one or two had hesitated at the door, he'd given them a stoney look and pointedly raised his book even higher.

 _I might just pull it off_ , he thought, noticing that the crowd on the platform was gradually dissipating. _I might just get all the way to Hogwarts without having to talk to anyone_. He pushed away the thought that once he arrived, he'd have to face all the others. If nothing else, he could still have a few hours to himself.

Suddenly, a knock at the compartment door interrupted his thoughts. Irritated, the boy narrowed his blue eyes and looked up, hoping that the glare would discourage whoever it was that wanted to come in. Then, he lowered the book and smiled slightly. On the other side of the glass door stood a robust, barrel-chested boy with a dark-blond mop of hair.

"Hullo again!" the other boy called out, grinning, "May I come in? I don't know anyone else here, and the compartments are almost full-up."

The boy with the book nodded, and within moments the second soon-to-be-student had tumbled into the compartment, heaving his trunk into the overhead rack. "Good to see you again," he exclaimed. "Pop and I would have been lost in Diagon Alley without you. And that ice-cream was fantastic. Pop wants to go back, but he can't find the entrance again. Thank you," he added with a laugh. Impulsively, he stuck out his hand to his new ally in the wizarding world.

"You're welcome, Hal," said the first boy, closing his book but leaving a finger between the pages to mark his place. After a brief hesitation, he shook the boy's hand.

Suddenly, he was glad his dad had approached Hal's father during their shopping trip, though at the time he'd been embarrassed. However, soon enough the boys had been wandering from shop to shop and chatting like old friends. Most of their conversation revolved around an endless series of questions from the bigger boy. Hal had strange ideas about Hogwarts that probably came from being a Muggle. Some of Hal's fears had been easy to allay.

"No, there are no flying staircases. They just move around a lot."

"No, quicksand in the hallways is just a rumor. Where did you come up with _that_ idea?"

"No, detention doesn't involve having your fingernails pulled out or getting chained in a dungeon. Not anymore, anyway."

Other questions had been harder to answer. When their fathers walked out of earshot, Hal had leaned forward and whispered, "What about the war? Is it really over?"

"How do you know about that?" the blond boy demanded, turning to look at his companion sharply.

"Um. Well, I have some family that . . . uh . . . got involved." Hal hesitated. "I don't want to fight," he added more quietly.

"The war is over. But I hear students duel in the hallways, so we'll probably have to fight sometimes."

Hal could tell that his new friend hadn't liked that line of questioning, so he asked about Hogwart's four houses instead. The answer he received was detailed, even well-rehearsed. He learned that his name would be called in the Great Hall just before the welcome feast, that he'd sit on a stool, and that a grubby old hat would be put on his head. It would read his mind and send him to the house that suited his character best. Hal's forehead creased a little as he thought this through.

Finally he asked, "But which house is the best? If you're put in one based on your character and abilities, then some houses must be better than others, right? What happens if you get into a bad one?"

Alarmed, the freckled boy glanced ahead at their fathers. He pushed his hair off his forehead and whispered vehemently, "All the houses are equal. Anyone who tells you different is a liar. Don't believe them. 'Cause people will tell you that your whole future is based on that stupid hat's decision. And they will judge you based on it."

They walked in silence for some time after that. Then, suddenly, the skinny boy grabbed Hal's arm, pulling him into an alcove near Flourish and Blotts, which their fathers had just entered.

"There's something else you have to know, Hal. All the houses are equal, but not all wizards are. Some are better than others. Some are evil, some are rotten to the core," he said urgently.

"But . . . w-w-we're just kids. How can any of us be e-e-evil already?" Hal sputtered.

"My father says that some wizards are the right kind, and some are wrong. It's a blood-sickness. You have to choose your friends carefully. Stay away from the wrong kind."

The two children stared at each other for a few long seconds, then the smaller boy looked away. "Tell my dad to pick up my books for me. I am going to go buy my wand now."

"You don't want him to come?"

"No."

"Will I see you later today?"

"No. We're almost done with our shopping."

"Oh." Hal hesitated. "So, I'll see you on the train?"

The other boy shrugged, and quickly walked away. He'd made a fool of himself. He'd been rude. He'd probably lost his first friend. Well, at least his embarrassment gave him an excuse to pick out his wand in private, he reflected, as he jingled the galleons and sickles in his pocket. He didn't want his Dad watching, just in case the wand that picked him didn't have a dragon heartstring core. Worse, he really didn't want his father to be there if no wand picked him at all.

Now, a week later in the cozy compartment on the Hogwarts Express, it seemed that Hal was ready to forgive him for his behavior in Diagon Alley. As the train pulled away, the boy relaxed a bit, closed his book, and prepared to be regaled by Hal, who had doubtless come up with a dozen new questions and wild theories about Hogwarts and the wizarding world. The urgency of Hal's first question took him aback, though.

"Before we say anything else," he said, flopping down on the opposite bench, "I have to know something. Who reads our names out during the sorting ceremony?"

"Huh? What does that matter?"

"I have to know! I have to know before the sorting."

"Why?"

Hal hesitated. "It's just that . . . my real name is kind of embarrassing. You know? I don't want everyone in the school to know it."

His companion nodded. "In my dad's days at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall greeted the first years after they crossed the lake. Now that she's headmistress, I think Professor Longbottom does it."

The sound of the compartment door opening interrupted the boys' conversation. Framed in the doorway was a girl with a heart-shaped face and bobbed black hair tucked behind her ears. She looked from one boy to the other uncertainly.

"Hi," she said. The boys looked at each other, then back at the intruder. "We got lost on the way to King's Cross, and I almost missed the train," she explained, "I'll have to share your compartment. There's nowhere else left."

Hal nodded vigorously, though he couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he helped the girl put her trunk away. The other boy stayed seated, staring and clutching his book. The girl sat down across from Hal, thanking him.

"No problem. My name is Hal. Hal Dursley." He paused, then threw out yet another of his never-ending questions. "You talk funny. Where are you from?"

"New York City. My name is Kiera Lestrange. It's a pleasure to meet you—"

The skinny boy with the book had suddenly stood up, his eyes wider than before.

"I—" he started to say.

"—both," Kiera finished, rather lamely.

"I—have to go to the loo!" the freckled boy stammered, looking around frantically. He pushed his way past Kiera and Hal into the corridor. Hal ran after him.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Do you think you're going to get girl-cooties or something?"

"You don't understand."

"I understand you're being lame. Are you going to leave us alone?"

Taking a deep breath and looking up at his friend, the smaller boy softly retorted, "Remember what I said about the right kind and wrong kind of wizard?"

"Yes, I do. I thought you were bonkers then, and I think you are bonkers now."

"Then maybe I'm the wrong kind of wizard."

Hal stuck his chin out and pressed his lips together, looking more stubborn and unyielding than he ever had before. "Yeah, maybe you are."

"I'll come back for my stuff later," the first boy said, turning on his heels and heading towards the back of the train. As he passed compartment after full compartment, his heart sank. He'd wanted to spend at least some of the ride watching the glorious landscape as the train sped by. Now, he realized that he really had no choice. There was no where else to go.

That is how Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, the heir of one of the last pureblood families, spent his entire first trip on the Hogwarts Express locked inside a loo. At least I have my book, he told himself. As the hours passed and the light faded, he softly closed the tome, leaned back, and shut his eyes. With the Hogwarts Express surging ever closer to the Sorting Hat, he repeated to himself over and over the phrase that had become his mantra:

_I am nothing like my father. I am nothing like my father. I am nothing like my father._


	2. Outsiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am nothing like my father, Albus Severus Potter thought as he rode on the Hogwarts Express. He was fighting the urge to chew on his new wand like he did his quills. He always did that when he got stressed, and he often ended up with a mouth full of ink. It was hard to resist, especially now that he had James's taunt running through his head. What if he, Albus Potter, actually did get sorted into Slytherin? Every single person in his family had been in Gryffindor. All his older cousins were Gryffindors. Yet, in the back of his mind, Albus knew that he didn't quite fit in with the rest.

_I am nothing like my father_ , Albus Severus Potter thought as he rode on the Hogwarts Express. He was fighting the urge to chew on his new wand like he did his quills. He always did that when he got stressed, and he often ended up with a mouth full of ink. It was hard to resist, especially now that he had James's taunt running through his head. What if he, Albus Potter, actually _did_ get sorted into Slytherin? Every single person in his family had been in Gryffindor. All his older cousins were Gryffindors. Yet, in the back of his mind, Albus knew that he didn't quite fit in with the rest.

Albus followed this line of thought a bit farther. If he wasn't a Gryffindor like his parents, then he probably _would_ be sorted into Slytherin. Hadn't Dad told him that the Sorting Hat had considered putting him in both those houses? Hadn't he said that one of the men Albus had been named after had been the Head of Slytherin? Most of all, wasn't it obvious to everyone who looked at the Potter family which one of them didn't really belong?

James Sirius Potter was the spitting image of their father. With his black hair, compact frame, and wire-rimmed glasses, James was recognized as the son of the Boy Who Lived wherever the family went. Spitefully, Albus muttered to himself, "And he doesn't even _need_ his eyes fixed!," kicking violently at the thought.

"Ouch! _Albus_! Watch what you're doing!" cried Rose, who glared at him through her messy curls and rubbed her shin. "That's going to leave a bruise."

"I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," Rose grunted, turning away from him with a frown.

Albus returned to his musings. Yes, James was _very_ like their father, despite his blue eyes. So was Lily, though since she was only nine and a girl it was harder to tell how strong the resemblance would be when she grew up. Albus, on the other hand, took after the Weasley side of the family. Tall and lanky for his age, Albus had red hair and was covered with freckles. No matter how many times his mum told him he'd inherited his dad's eyes, it didn't make Albus feel like he belonged. No one noticed his eyes after they'd seen his hair. How many times had strangers approached the Potters in Diagon Alley and asked whether Albus was James's cousin?

Too many times to count, he decided. And now he was _going_ to get sorted into Slytherin, which was a very bad thing. No matter how fair-minded his parents tried to be, Albus had read enough history to know how many dark wizards had emerged from the dungeons of Hogwarts. Plus, his Uncle Ron never refrained from expressing his disdain for Slytherins, even while Aunt Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval and spoke of tolerance. Albus wondered why the house wasn't simply abolished.

"It's going to be an _major_ scandal when it comes out," came an authoritative voice from his left. Suddenly, Albus tuned into the conversation going on around him. For an instant, he feared that the comment was a response to the possibility of a Potter-Weasley being sorted into Slytherin.

"What is, Molly?" drawled Louis as he lounged across the aisle, his feet propped up on the opposite bench.

"I can't tell you," Molly smirked. "It's a Ministry _secret._ But when you find out, you'll understand. The whole wizarding world is going to be stunned."

Rose interrupted, "Oh, come on. You don't know anything. You were eavesdropping on Uncle Percy, as usual, and now you've made up a story just to sound important."

"Eavesdropping is really rude," contributed Roxanne. The others ignored her.

"Anyway, we all know that Uncle Percy was probably droning on and on about major _candles_ , not major _scandals,_ " added Louis, examining his shirt for stray crumbs and brushing them onto the floor.

"My dad's an important man," huffed Molly, "and when the news comes out, I'm going to be the one saying 'I told you so!'"

"No, you're not," said Rose with finality, "because you haven't _told_ us anything. Now everyone put on your robes. We're almost there."

Molly looked as if she'd like to kick Rose in the other shin. "How can you know?"

"Simple: It's almost dinner time, and it's getting dark. We all know about the first-years' night-time boat trip across the lake _and_ about the sorting ceremony just before the feast. Therefore, we must be arriving soon. It's only logical. Right, Albus?"

"Right," he said, climbing onto the bench to retrieve his new robes from his carefully-packed trunk. He felt his heart pounding as he saw his cousins stuffing leftover candy in their pockets, putting away their new chocolate frog cards, and carefully (or carelessly, in Louis's case) putting their wands in their robe pockets. Albus was struggling. Having plunged his right arm into one sleeve, he couldn't find the other. _It just isn't my day_ , Albus thought, as he flailed around for the left armhole. Then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Here, let me help," came Roxanne's soft voice from behind him. She helped Albus find his sleeve, then gave his shoulder a squeeze. He looked over at her and smiled.

Roxanne, too, was an outsider in her own family. The younger daughter of Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, she had an aversion to practical jokes and explosions. Her brother Fred—who spent many an hour hanging out with James—was gleeful and reckless whenever he got his hands on a new, experimental product for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Perhaps that was why Roxanne spent so much time in the local Muggle library, her dark eyes focused intently on textbooks about grammar and mathematics. Albus suspected that Roxanne's deepest wish had been to be allowed to attend the local Muggle school.

Shrugging the rest of the way into his robe and carefully fastening it, Albus tucked his still-unchewed wand into his pocket. He looked at the other children in the compartment, wondering at how many of them there were. Just this year, there were five first-years from the Potter-Weasley clan: Albus, Rose, Roxanne, Louis, and Molly. Every one of them, except for Rose, had red or strawberry-blond hair. Every one of them had grown up together. And now, every one of them expected to be sharing the same classrooms, the same dorms, and the same house for the next seven years. How could Gryffindor support so many Weasleys?

Once again seated across from Albus, Rose seemed to be thinking the same thing. She leaned forward, grabbed his hand, and whispered, "Please, Albus—tell the hat to put you in Gryffindor. It will listen. I _need_ you."

Albus smiled at her. "Rose, you don't need anyone. You always know what to do."

"No, I don't. I don't know how I'm going to handle the classes without your help. I'm not smart like Mum."

"Rose, don't be silly—"

"Dad expects me to be as good as my mum in classes," Rose insisted, "He wants me to beat everyone. But I can't. Not without you."

"Uncle Ron says you got Aunt Hermione's brains. I heard him say so just this morning!"

"Well, then I guess he sees me through rose-colored glasses," she sighed. Louis and Molly, who had overheard the exchange, started giggling. Rose blushed, then threw them a scathing look that only increased their mirth. For a moment, Albus feared that their first night at Hogwarts was going to begin with a brawl. Then, the train jerked to a stop. All was forgotten as the cousins began to tumble into the corridor, each talking over the other.

As their excited voices echoed behind him, Albus stood at the compartment door and looked back in. It was so tiny and empty now. His long legs were sore from sitting so close together for so many hours. Albus doubted that all five of them would fit into one compartment by Christmas. But by then he'd probably be an outcast anyway. He'd probably be a Slytherin—an enemy in his own family, no matter what his dad had said—and stuck for the next seven years with the children of people that his parents, his aunts, his uncles, and his grandparents had fought and hated nineteen years before.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Albus Potter thought, _I wish I was more like my father_. _Why can't I be like my dad?_ With a sigh, he turned towards the exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


	3. Crossing Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius stayed inside the loo until the train was empty. Slipping back into his compartment, he gently placed the book inside his trunk. It was rare and very old, and if he dropped it in the lake, his father wouldn't be able to replace it. He put his robes on as fast as he could, then gingerly took his wand from its box and put it in his right pocket. Maybe if he hurried, he could catch up with the rest of the first-years before the boats sailed. After missing the view from train, he would hate to lose his first glimpse of Hogwarts, too.

Scorpius stayed inside the loo until the train was empty. Slipping back into his compartment, he gently placed the book inside his trunk. It was rare and very old, and if he dropped it in the lake, his father wouldn't be able to replace it. He put his robes on as fast as he could, then gingerly took his wand from its box and put it in his right pocket. Maybe if he hurried, he could catch up with the rest of the first-years before the boats sailed. After missing the view from train, he would hate to lose his first glimpse of Hogwarts, too.

Stepping onto the platform, Scorpius heard a hearty voice from somewhere in the distance: "Firs' years! Firs' years—follow me! Any more firs' years coming?" Scorpius rushed towards the voice, stumbling in the dark down the steep and rocky path. Once he nearly tripped, but he caught himself by grabbing a sapling. Wincing at the scrape on his hand, he picked his way more carefully down the hill. Then, his breath caught: the trees parted, and he saw before him the vast, dark waters of a lake. Beyond loomed a massive cliff surmounted by a castle, its turrets glowing with torchlights and candles. It looked welcoming. It looked like _home._

At the edge of the lake were almost forty children, most of them already seated in a fleet of small boats. They, too, were awed into silence by the view before them. A giant man with a tumble of salt-and-pepper hair loomed over them. Though his back was turned, he seemed to sense Scorpius's quiet approach.

"Ah, looks ter be a straggler. Mind yeh get ter class on time, or yeh'll be in detention before yeh know it!" he called over his shoulder. Scorpius shivered at the thought. Then, the giant—Hagrid was his name—turned. His beard was just as bushy as his hair. In Hagrid's arms was a slight, brown-haired boy, his face luminous. He didn't look injured, but Scorpius couldn't imagine any other reason that the giant would be carrying him down to the boat.

"There, there, Caleb," Hagrid said, setting the boy on a bench. "It's a smooth crossing and I'll be waiting for yeh on t'other side."

Now, only one boat remained. It already had three occupants. Scorpius climbed in with less grace than he'd have liked, then looked from face to face. These were his future classmates—or even his future housemates. Across from him sat what were doubtless twins, though they were similar only in their round faces, pointed chins, and roly-poly builds. The boy on the left was all one shade of brown: his eyes, hair, and tanned skin seemed to blend together behind his spectacles. A very furry kitten gamboled on his lap. The boy didn't seem to notice that his robe was encrusted with fur. The other twin was white-blond with bright blue eyes and a very sunburned face. There was something wistful in his expression.

Then, suddenly, the boat lurched forward. They were on their way.

"I wonder how many creatures live in this lake!" said the spectacled kid, trailing his fingers in the water. "I already know about the Giant Squid, and the Merpeople, and the grindilows. Perhaps there are Aquavirus Maggots, too? I hope so."

"Yuck. Lysander, can you leave off all that stuff? Just for tonight? We've finally got a real home. I want to enjoy it."

"I wonder if any moon frogs made it to the Great Lake?" his brother continued, as if he hadn't heard a thing. "What a find that will be! Just wait 'til Mum hears about it. If we could find just _one_ specimen, we'd finally have _proof._ Just think of the research trips we could take then! And the conferences!"

"I'd rather think of staying in one place for more than six months."

"Lorcan, don't be so _boring._ "

Scorpius looked at the girl on his right. She was plain and thin-lipped, with thick black hair and an unflattering fringe. Eyes crossed and slightly unfocused, she gazed silently at the water. She didn't seem to notice her seat-mate at all. _No point in interrupting her_ , Scorpius concluded, wondering what she thought she saw out there. All he saw were waves and swaying trees in the distance.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind rushed over the water. Scorpius shivered, thrusting his hands in his pockets. In the right one was his wand, just where he had left it. In the other one, he felt a folded parchment. Pulling it out, he recognized the Malfoy family seal. He turned away from his companions and examined the letter. _From father_ , he thought. The moon was bright, so he opened it stealthily and read:

_Dearest Scorpius,_

_Remember this, above all else, as you begin your education: Do not shame our family. Do not disgrace the Malfoy name._

_As my only heir, it is your duty to return us to what we once were. You are my pride and joy. I know you can do it._

_Your Affectionate Father,_

_Draco Malfoy_

When Scorpius put the letter back in his pocket, it seemed much heavier than before.

Before he could look up again, Lorcan and Lysander gasped. Just in time, he realized that the boat was passing through an opening in the face of the cliff. The hanging ivy brushed his face even as he threw up his arms to protect it. Then, the words of the blond boy caught Scorpius's attention again.

"There, Lysander. You can't say this is any less magnificent than what we saw on our travels. It's even better than Transylvania!"

"You have been to Transylvania?" demanded the girl beside Scorpius, suddenly sizing up the twins with interest. "You speak Romanian?" There was a musical lilt to her voice which was surprisingly charming.

"Well, no," said Lorcan. "We weren't really there long enough. Studying dragons, not people," he shivered.

"But _I_ speak Russian, French, Spanish, Brazilian Portuguese, Tagalog, and American," volunteered Lysander. The girl grunted and turned back to the water, which was even blacker in the depths of the cavern.

Scorpius was glad when he felt the boat come aground. He was ready to get away from his unnerving companion. Lorcan and Lysander, whoever they were, weren't bad, though the boy with the glasses and the animal-obsession seemed a bit tiresome. The girl, however, with her strange eyes and her curiosity about Transylvania, was alarming. At least she hadn't asked about Albania.

As Scorpius disembarked and found himself surrounded by the other babbling children, he watched Hagrid carefully. The massive gamekeeper had picked Caleb up again, cradling him in his brawny arms. The boy's eyes shone and his lips were moving rapidly as he described the wonders of seeing Hogwarts from the lake, and how he'd never been been in a boat before for fear of drowning.

"Thar'l be no drownin' fer ye here, me boy," Hagrid smiled. "Now will ye do me a favor and knock three times on that there door. Ye see, I got me hands full."

Caleb raised a tiny fist and struck the wooden door until it swung open to reveal a tall, blue-robed witch with a stern mouth and her hair pulled back tightly. It was not who Scorpius expected to see. Where was Professor Longbottom? Surely, this stately figure was none other than Headmistress McGonagall. Beside her stood a dark-blonde girl with her hair in two braids. She was practically bouncing with excitement.

"You'll never _believe_ what has happened—" the girl blurted out.

"That is _enough_ , Miss Longbottom. If you don't hold your tongue, I'll take ten points from whatever house you are sorted into, even if it _is_ Gryffindor." After that warning, Miss Longbottom kept quiet. Scorpius couldn't help feeling a little admiration for how the stately witch had wrought silence with so few words, and for how she captured the attention of forty children with such ease. He wished he had such power over people. It was certainly better than being invisible.

Headmistress McGonagall led the children from the mossy wooden door through the Entrance Hall, and from there into an anti-chamber. Hagrid trudged beside her, bearing Caleb in his arms. Once they entered the small room, he carefully deposited the small boy into a chair with silver wheels.

"What's that?" Scorpius asked, almost to himself.

"It's a wheelchair," answered a voice behind him. When he turned, he saw that Hal Dursley and Kiera Lestrange were hovering there. Perhaps Hal had decided to give him another chance to redeem himself. It was Kiera who had spoken.

"A veal-chair?" asked Scorpius, with confusion. In all the books with which his father had lined his room ("For your edification," he had stated), he'd never heard of a veal-chair. It sounded rather squishy and uncomfortable, and certainly bad for one's robes.

"No, a _wheel_ -chair," Hal clarified. "It's for people who can't walk."

"Can't walk?" interrupted a long-limbed strawberry-blond boy with amber eyes who had somehow ended up near them. "If he can't walk, why didn't his parents _fix_ him?"

"Well," countered Kiera, "Maybe they don't think he's broken." She had a sharp edge in her voice.

Scorpius couldn't restrain himself. "But—but—someone like that doesn't belong at Hogwarts. Not here! It's not right!" he blurted out. As soon as he'd said the words, he knew he had blundered yet again. It didn't matter if he was thinking of the moving staircases and the vast distance between the Astronomy tower and the Potions dungeon. He'd read once about something called "three strikes and you're out"; now, with his foolish tongue, he'd struck out too many times. He'd certainly lost his only friend.

Hal had turned on him. "You know, _Malfoy_ ," he said evenly, "I thought you were a good kinda bloke. You helped me when no one else would. But now I see you for what you are. You," he spat out, "Are a prat and a bigot."

"But—"

"Can it! That boy—whoever he is—is probably the bravest person I ever saw." His eyes narrowed. "I'm sure we _both_ know what house he'll be sorted into, and if I'm lucky enough to be there, too, I will carry him from the Astronomy tower to the Great Hall and back again every single day for the next seven years," he said, emphasizing the last part of the sentence.

A girl with bouncy brown curls butted into the conversation. "That shouldn't be necessary," she declared. "We're at Hogwarts, after all. We've got magic on our side."

Flummoxed about what to do, Scorpius walked away and pushed towards the front of the crowd so he could hear Professor McGonagall better. She had already explained the Sorting Hat, the point system, and how the house cup worked. Now, she looked ready to lead the students from the ante-chamber.

"Where is Professor Longbottom, Headmistress?" cried out a voice behind Scorpius.

"Waiting in the Great Hall with the rest of the faculty, I should imagine," replied McGonagall. "And I am no longer Headmistress. I have stepped down."

Scorpius could hear a collective gasp. His own breath caught.

"From now on," McGonagall continued, her lips pressed thin, "I am once again the Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor. You will find that there have been many changes at Hogwarts this year," she added.

A low murmur came from the students. Prof. McGonagall cut it short. "Form a line," she commanded, "and join me for the sorting." As she began to leave the room, Scorpius saw Hal run up to her and speak to her urgently. Although at first McGonagall tensed at Hal's temerity, she soon softened. Scorpius was certain that no matter how embarrassing Hal's real name was, it wouldn't be revealed by her.

He entered the Great Hall feeling even lower than he had before. Nausea threatened to overcome him. He was a prat. He was a coward. Probably, he was a bully—just like his dad. Certainly he'd never be able to restore his family's honor.

Scorpius crushed the letter in his pocket as the doors to the Great Hall opened. Before him, he saw only blackness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


	4. The Sorting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus walked into the Great Hall, his heart pounding. Above his head, the enchanted ceiling revealed the night sky: a few stars twinkling through drifting storm-clouds. He hadn't noticed them while they were crossing the lake. A thunderstorm must have gathered as they were waiting in the ante-chamber. Not a good omen, he thought. If I believed in omens, which I certainly do not, Albus amended.

Albus walked into the Great Hall, his heart pounding. Above his head, the enchanted ceiling revealed the night sky: a few stars twinkling through drifting storm-clouds. He hadn't noticed them while they were crossing the lake. A thunderstorm must have gathered as they were waiting in the ante-chamber. _Not a good omen_ , he thought. _If I believed in omens, which I certainly do not_ , Albus amended.

He was conscious of two things: the crowd of students at the four long tables, and the pedestal where his new teachers sat. Strangely, the central seat—the one the new headmaster or headmistress should be occupying—was empty. Back at the Gryffindor table, James and Fred were laughing and poking each other with forks. Then, the older students became aware of the first years' arrival. James turned, craning his head. When he met Albus's eyes, there was a smirk on his bespectacled face. James's lips moved as he silently mouthed a single word: "Slytherin."

Albus flinched and glanced towards the other side of the room. Under silver and green banners sat the members of the rival house. Somehow, the Slytherins looked twice as big as all the other students. Twice as big, and twice as mean.

"No!" said Albus, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until his peers glanced his way. _Not Slytherin_ , he finished in his head. Then, he felt someone take his hand. It was Rose. Her grasp was warm and reassuring. She smiled up at him, and Albus relaxed.

"Your hand's all clammy," she observed.

"I know."

"Just ask the hat. Ask the hat for Gryffindor." Now, Rose's expression was different: it was imploring. Albus shuffled uncomfortably and looked away, pretending to examine the other first years. On the boat, he'd been with his cousins, and in the ante-chamber, he'd been distracted. Now was his first chance to study the faces of his classmates. Some were still filing in, but others had entered before him.

The very first to go through the massive door to the Great Hall had been the boy in the wheelchair. A bit behind him was a slight, blond boy. _Who was he?_ Albus wondered. He looked familiar. A memory arose: Albus had seen him on platform nine and three-quarters, standing next to Draco Malfoy.

So _that_ was Draco Malfoy's son. This morning, he'd looked pale. Now, he looked positively green. An appropriate shade. Albus had heard enough about the Malfoy family from Uncle Ron and Louis to know trouble when he saw it. Albus could still remember the time he and James had stayed with Uncle Bill during the full moon: the livid scars raising on his Uncle's face, the pain that made tears spring to his eyes, Aunt Fleur's careful ministrations. Bloody steaks at dinnertime. It was no wonder that—after a lifetime of lunar cycles—even the languid Louis was enraged when he learned that Draco Malfoy let Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts.

Albus hoped he wouldn't have to spend too much time with Scorpius Malfoy. He also hoped he'd never get caught in between Louis and Scorpius during a full moon—or any other time. Two more excellent reasons not to be sorted into Slytherin.

Albus also recognized Lorcan and Lysander Scamander, then his cousin Marie Delacour, the daughter of Aunt Fleur's sister. Her middle name was "Harriet"—yet another of the many children who had been named after his dad. Marie spent every summer with her aunt and uncle, though Albus didn't know her very well himself.

He didn't have time to seek out more familiar faces. As the door to the ante-chamber slammed behind him, Professor McGonagall set down the stool with the Sorting Hat. From everything James had said, Albus had expected to see a filthy old rag, but the Sorting Hat looked like it had been scoured. The new headmaster's work, perhaps?

Then, the hat began to sing:

_Oh, I'm the Sorting Hat, you see—_   
_A thousand years of age._   
_Not known now for my beauty,_   
_Then was I all the rage._   
_Conceived by the founding four,_   
_I was made with utmost care._   
_Each chose from their own private stores,_   
_The ornaments I wear._

_Yes, Gryffindor, he handed in_   
_A shirt of finest stuff,_   
_Oft worn upon the battlefield._   
_That's why I'm somewhat rough._   
_Ravenclaw made my lining_   
_From her soft underdress,_   
_Which is why you may be finding_   
_My voice like a caress._   
_Slytherin—why he donated_   
_The ribbon 'round my brim!_   
_A favor won while jousting,_   
_It was the pride of him._   
_Hufflepuff put me together_   
_With a thread she spun herself._   
_That's why I've held my shapely form_   
_For eons on a shelf._

_Oh, I know about your family trees,_   
_From root to branch of course._   
_And those that are new to me,_   
_I'll send where I endorse._

_For years there's been fallacy,_   
_Believed by all of you,_   
_That Hufflepuff is hopeless,_   
_While Gryffindor is true;_   
_Ravenclaw has the brainy ones,_   
_And Slytherin trains the thugs._   
_But thoughts like these can wound,_   
_You know, as surely as bedbugs._

_I've seen what those that made me_   
_Knew from the very start._   
_As Dumbledore once told me,_   
_Who you are comes from the heart._   
_The choices that will form you,_   
_Are shaped by your new house._   
_If sorted without diligence,_   
_You could turn into a louse._

_When crafted by the founders,_   
_I received their special gifts._   
_I have to use them wisely,_   
_To heal these age-old rifts._   
_Endowed by one with brains I was,_   
_By another with a heart._   
_The third gave me his confidence,_   
_The fourth—where do I start?_   
_He gave me the cunning_   
_To choose where you belong._   
_Now wily wisdom tells me,_   
_A time for change has come along._

As the hat fell silent, Albus could hear a smattering of applause, mostly from the high table. Gradually, students joined in. There was a certain reservation in their response, as well as murmurs of discontent. Had the Sorting Hat just insulted them all?

McGonagall cleared her throat. "An excellent song, I am sure we all agree," she observed. After unrolling a parchment, she adjusted her glasses. "Now, the sorting begins. Bashir, Alexander!"

A dark boy stepped forward, sat, and placed the hat on his head. Soon after, the hat shouted "SLYTHERIN!" and the boy joined his new house.

"Blakeney, Percy!" A few students giggled, and Albus wondered why. He and his Weasley cousins looked at each other and shrugged.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Applause erupted from the other side of the room. Albus held his breath.

"Bones, Marius!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bulstrode-Boot, Grace!" As a heavyset and ungainly girl walked to the stool, Albus couldn't help but think that her name was a cruel joke.

The hat was silent for a moment, before calling out "GRYFFINDOR!" The surprised expression on the Grace Bulstrode-Boot's face matched those on her new housemates'.

An elbow caught Albus in the ribs. "Don't forget to _breathe_ , Albus!" Rose hissed. "You have to be _conscious_ to talk to the hat."

Albus rubbed his side. "Now _that's_ going to leave a bruise," he whispered back.

"Then we're even." She tossed her curls.

While he and Rose were distracted, they'd missed the names of two more students who had both been sent to Gryffindor. Now, a new girl was walking towards the stool. A shock went through Albus: she looked just like Molly, right down to the wavy red hair—though this girl was shorter and rounder.

"RAVENCLAW!" screamed the Sorting Hat.

"Who is she?" Albus asked.

"Couldn't hear," Rose responded. She looked unsettled as well.

A couple more names were called, and Albus was surprised when Marie Delacour was sent to Slytherin. He squirmed and reminded himself about breathing. He didn't fancy Rose breaking his ribs with her next blow.

McGonagall appeared to be bracing herself to read the next name. Looking back, Albus remembered _that_ as the moment when everything began to fall apart.

"Diggory," McGonagall pronounced, "Cedric the Second."

As a handsome boy with gray eyes walked forward confidently, Albus tried to remember why the name "Cedric Diggory" was so familiar. Of course! He'd been Voldemort's first victim after his return. His father witnessed Diggory's death during the Triwizard Tournament.

 _This_ Cedric Diggory sat with the hat on his head for a long time before it finally placed him in Hufflepuff. His new house cheered, but as the boy took the Sorting Hat off, his face was troubled. Doris Dingle, a waif-like girl with huge eyes and a braid across her forehead, was sent to Slytherin. _Like a lamb going to slaughter._ Albus pitied her.

"Dursley, Hal"—another name that Albus couldn't quite place.

"RAVENCLAW!"

After a girl with dark hair and an upturned nose was sent to Hufflepuff, McGonagall read, "Gaunt, Artemisia."

The name meant nothing to Albus, but caused a stir among the teachers. A few students were also leaning forward with interest. The cross-eyed girl was dispatched to Slytherin.

Next, the Greengrass-Zabini twins were sent to different houses: Blake went to Slytherin, but Bianca was made a Gryffindor. Her sorting broke a long-standing tradition on both sides of their family. She received tepid applause from her new housemates, and the Sorting Hat was booed by Slytherin.

"Hush!" remonstrated McGonagall, moving on to the next student on her list.

The next student Albus took notice of was Caleb Keselman, who wheeled up to the foot of Gryffindor's table. The Potter-Weasley family house was filling up fast.

"Lestrange, Kiera!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Again, Albus had the nagging sense that he'd fallen into a history book. He began to shift uncomfortably from side to side. He was impatient to get sorted so he could collapse somewhere—anywhere. Except Slytherin. Rose pulled her hand away and wiped her it on her robe.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

 _This one should be quick_ , Albus decided, as he watched the sick-looking boy walk to the stool. He was wrong. Seconds ticked by while Malfoy sat with the hat on his head, his hands clenched in his lap. Seconds turned to minutes, and Albus could hear the hiss of lowered voices echo throughout the Great Hall.

Finally, the hat shouted, "RAVENCLAW!"

When Malfoy removed the hat, his expression was unreadable. His new house didn't bother to applaud as he took his seat.

Albus stopped listening to the names. He knew he would be called soon, and began rehearsing his plea. Suddenly, he wondered what the correct form of address was for a magical item. "Oh, Most Magical One?" or "All-Knowing Hat?" or just "Please, Sir?"

Was the Sorting Hat a sir? Or a ma'am? Neither? Or—both?

"Potter, Albus!"

As he stepped away from the dwindling group of first-years, Albus could feel Rose's eyes on his back. He would just ask simply. Put me in Gryffindor. No, put me in Gryffindor, _please_.

But Albus never had a chance to think a single word. The moment the hat touched his head, it screamed, "RAVENCLAW!"

Ravenclaw!

Ravenclaw!

Albus stood. Gryffindor was silent. James looked stunned. Albus was vaguely aware that his new housemates were jumping and cheering. Probably, they were overjoyed to have a _Potter_ in their ranks. As he approached the table under blue and bronze banners, thoughts rushed through his mind:

_At least it isn't Slytherin._

_But it isn't Gryffindor, either._

_Dad had a choice. He had a_ choice _between the two._

_I had no choice._

_I_ am _nothing like my father._

Glancing behind him, he could see Rose's face: stricken, yet furious. Albus wanted to cry. He sat down. He felt hands slapping his shoulder and heard students greeting him. Across from him sat Scorpius Malfoy, who was staring intently at his plate. Albus did the same. He stopped listening to McGonagall until she got to the Weasleys, last on her list.

"Weasley, Louis!"

"That's LOUIE. It's French."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, "It's French, _Professor_ ," she corrected. The hat put Louis in Gryffindor.

"Weasley, Molly."

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Weasley, Rose!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" Albus's heart sank.

"Weasley, Roxanne!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Roxanne rushed up to the table and sat next to Albus. Her face was radiant.

"Just think, Al! No explosions!" she exclaimed. "I can finally read in peace!"

Then, Albus remembered all his books—how happy he had been whenever Aunt Hermione gave him her old course books and novels.

"I know _you'll_ appreciate these, Albus," she'd whisper, when Uncle Ron was too far away to hear.

Albus and Roxanne had read too many books, and now they were in Ravenclaw. Then again, at least he wasn't alone. As Roxanne chattered in his ear, Albus protested to himself: _I don't belong in this house_.

But the sorting was finished; there was no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


	5. The Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Albus had bothered to look around the room, he might have noticed that he was far from the only student to question his house placement. Scorpius Malfoy, however, was listening intently. All around him, he heard dozens of discontented students speculating that the Sorting Hat had gone barmy with age.

If Albus had bothered to look around the room, he might have noticed that he was far from the only student to question his house placement. Scorpius Malfoy, however, was listening intently. All around him, he heard dozens of discontented students speculating that the Sorting Hat had gone barmy with age.

As much as he wanted to, Scorpius knew he couldn't stare at his plate all night. Soon after Roxanne Weasley seated herself, Scorpius looked up at her. A brilliant smile on her face, she perched next to a lanky boy with green eyes.  _Harry Potter's son_ , Scorpius noted, _Albus. Albus Severus Potter_. Of course, Scorpius had known that they would be in the same year at Hogwarts since he'd been—he couldn't remember how old.

But he'd never thought they'd be in the same house. What would his father would say . . . ?

Albus and Roxanne were a study in opposites. The former was not at all what he had expected. He was pale, with red hair and a crooked front tooth. His masses of freckles put Scorpius's to shame. Indeed, the only part of Albus Potter that Scorpius recognized were his eyes. The boy seemed somber and restrained.

Meanwhile, Roxanne's brown eyes and deeply tanned skin contrasted starkly with her tight, red-brown curls. She was so exuberant that it looked like she could float with joy at any moment—up, up, and away, through the suspended candles and into the storm-clouds above. At first, Scorpius was concerned: it was not uncommon for magical children to levitate.  _But then_ , Scorpius reminded himself,  _we are at Hogwarts. We have magic on our side_. If anything went wrong, the teachers would intervene.

The teachers! Scorpius's eyes flicked towards the High Table. There seemed to be so many of them—more than he'd expected. He tried to identify the ones who remained from his parents' days. At the far end was an imposing, dark woman with an aquiline nose and a telescope on a gold chain: Professor Sinistra, Astronomy. A round, graying woman with gold-rimmed glasses: Professor Vector, Arithmancy. Rubeus Hagrid, taking up at least two spots with his enormous bulk. Care of Magical Creatures.

Scorpius frowned. He had to even the score with  _him_.

At the other end of the table lounged Professor Slughorn, just as dad described him: rotund, bald, nattily dressed, and wearing a self-satisfied expression on his moustached face. Although everyone had expected Slughorn to retire as soon as Lord Voldemort was defeated, he had remained at Hogwarts ever since. Dad called Slughorn a "man with a mission": after he'd fought to bring down Voldemort, he had dedicated himself—in his capacity as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin—to restoring the honor of his house. Almost twenty years later, Slughorn remained. He had his work cut out for him.

 _To restore the honor of his house_. Scorpius's mission was not so different from Slughorn's. He only hoped that he'd have more success.

Fortunately, before he could dwell on his father's note, an elegant black woman rose from the High Table, waved her wand, and sent a flock of white doves into the crowd overhead. As the cooing birds settled on rafters, the students fell silent. Almost three hundred eyes turned to her.

"Good evening and welcome back," the woman began, her voice sonorous and clear. "In our Headmaster's absence, it has fallen to me to introduce the feast. But before we eat, I want to greet our newest students, who are beginning their studies in a year that is will bring many changes and challenges—both for you, and for Hogwarts as an institution."

Another low murmur began among the students. The woman cut it off with a wave of her hand.

"Of course," she smiled, after a pause, "it is not  _my_  place to make political speeches. Instead, I suggest you enjoy the banquet!"

As mounds of food appeared on the table, Scorpius's stomach growled. The nausea had passed now that the sorting was over. Instead, he felt faint. After all, he  _had_  spent all those hours on the Hogwarts Express in the loo, his carefully-packed sandwiches tucked away in the compartment with Hal and the Lestrange girl. He'd eaten nothing since breakfast. As he reached for a Cornish pasty, he heard the girl on his right ask the question that was going through his own mind.

"Who  _was_  that woman?"

"Victoria Frobisher, professor of Charms," answered an older boy. "She's also the head of our house—or, I should say, co-head, along with Professor Li."

"A co-head? Isn't that unusual?" demanded another first-year through a mouth full of peas.

"Aye, I suppose so. Been that way ever since I've been here, though," the same boy answered. He started to lift a huge pile of mashed potatoes to his mouth, then dropped his fork with a clatter.

"Oooof!"

The boy narrowed his eyes at the girl sitting across from him. "My very  _dear_  friend Eleanor is reminding me of my duties, though why she can't be bothered herself—"

"We both know you have a special interest here, Justin," Eleanor responded. She looked like she'd been cast in the same mould as Professor McGonagall.

"That I do, that I do," conceded Justin. "Well, my name is Justin Johnstone, and I'm a fifth year prefect. This," he gestured to the cool girl, "is the other—Eleanor MacDougal. Sorry, you'll have to put up with her—same as the rest of us."

As he reached for his mashed potatoes again, Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, alright. Introductions it is. We'll begin with the wee lass at the end," he said, stabbing his fork at the plain-looking girl on Scorpius's left. Potato bits flew onto the table. "What're you called?"

"You know very well, Justin Johnstone. And don't call me a 'wee lass,' I don't like it!"

"My, my, this one has a temper!"

The girl pushed her hair behind one ear. "I don't know what I did to deserve living with  _you_  for another three years," she declared.

The boy raised an eyebrow. "And what about family unity, Claire?"

"Tosh!" the girl exclaimed, then her face softened. "I'm Claire Johnstone, and that  _troll_  is my brother," she said, gesturing in Justin's direction with a half-eaten drumstick.

The introductions continued. Scorpius tried to remember everyone's name: Roxanne was next, then Albus, Hal, Kiera, Lysander Scamander—still fur-covered, though his kitten had vanished, Charlotte Clearwater—short, with red hair, Asclepius Smethwyk—a black boy with big eyes, and Calliope Tinker, the girl who had asked who Professor Frobisher was. Then it was Scorpius's turn. As he opened his mouth, a soft, speculative voice cut him off.

"And you are Draco Malfoy's boy."

The source of the voice was a much older girl with several quills stuck through a tangle of dark hair. Her wide features were not unpleasant, but her expression as she looked down the long table made him uneasy.

"My name is Scorpius."

"Scorpius . . . Malfoy," she repeated.

"That's our Head Girl," Eleanor MacDougal said. "We're proud of our record—Ravenclaw has had either the Head Girl or Boy for the last five years—and we aim to for the next twenty."

"So the pressure is on all of you," said Justin. This time, he splattered soup as he gestured.

"Isolde has a keen eye for trouble," Eleanor warned. "So if you're planning to break curfew or sneak off somewhere, think again."

The Head Girl had still not averted her gaze.

"Eleanor is right," she finally said, turning away from Scorpius to survey the rest of the Ravenclaws curtly. "We can't afford misbehavior—not if we want to win the House Cup."

A number of students cheered, but Scorpius pushed his plate away. It was his first night at Hogwarts, and he'd already been labelled "Draco Malfoy's boy."

* * *

Albus spent the first part of the feast hacking at a slice of veal, irritated at the constant cooing of the doves.  _A symbol of peace_. That's what Professor Frobisher must have had in mind when she conjured them. It was a pretty sentiment, but Albus was struggling to take it in. Certainly, he was not at peace with himself. He had marched into Hogwarts convinced that he would go in one of two directions: into Gryffindor, which would prove that he was his father's son, or into Slytherin, which would seal his fate as an outsider—the bad apple in the barrel.

It never occurred to him that there were other options. Either he lived up to his dad, or he didn't. Today was supposed to have been the moment of truth. Now, Albus was caught in between. It was intolerable.

Throughout dinner, Roxanne chattered with her new housemates. Of course, they both already knew Lysander Scamander through his parents, who sometimes visited during the brief periods they spent at Ottery St. Catchpole. Albus also recognized Asclepius Smethwyk, whom he'd seen around Diagon Alley. He was a half-blood, the grandson of Hippocrates Smethwyk. The entire family seemed dedicated to the healing profession. Already, Asclepius was going on and on about salves, potions, healing charms, and the dozens of times he'd visited St. Mungo's—both as a patient and an observer.

"I'll bet you didn't know there was a potion that can regrow bones from the inside out. Hurts like the devil, it does!"

Actually, Albus  _had_  known that.

"I'll bet you didn't know that werewolves can be treated. You just need to drink a simple potion, taken around the full moon."

Albus knew that, too—and that the potion wasn't all that simple.

The muggle-born first-years were taken aback by the word "werewolves." Calliope and Hal gasped, and Kiera exclaimed that such a thing was impossible—unthinkable. The prefect who had introduced them leaned towards her, sloshing his pumpkin juice down his sleeve in the process.

"You'll find," he said ominously, "there are a great many creatures in the magical world that you've never heard of before: everything from werewolves, to trolls, to hippogriffs. Some of them are nice, and some of them could take your arm off with just . . . one . . . snap of their jaws."

Hal responded that he'd rather go the rest of his life without ever encountering any of those animals. Just as Albus was about to defend properly-treated werewolves (his father would have, of course), Scorpius Malfoy piped up.

"Werewolves aren't all bad," he said. "Some of them, in fact—"

"Some of them, in fact," Albus interrupted, piqued, "can prove pretty bloody useful. Can't they, Malfoy?"

Scorpius stared at him, slack-jawed. For some reason, his silence made Albus even angrier. What business did  _Malfoy_  have in the same house as  _Albus Potter_? How dare he to defend werewolves—when his kind used them as weapons? When they scarred innocent people for life? Albus remembered Louis shaking with sobs during that terrible night at Uncle Bill's. As Scorpius continued to gape, Albus delivered his final blow:

"Does your daddy keep one in your dungeons, in case he wants to invite a few  _guests_  up here again?"

By now, their corner of the table had fallen silent. Roxanne turned to him, pulling on his robe. "Albus, that was mean. How could you say something like that?"

He brushed her hand away. He wouldn't back down. No matter how many blows he had had today, there was one thing he was sure of: He was never going to let Malfoy get away with murder—even if they  _were_ in the same house. He was warm with satisfaction as he watched the other boy squirm. Albus had regained something in that exchange: the sense that he could fight, too—that he was, in fact,  _brave._

Then, Roxanne gripped his wrist under the table, making him wince. So only he could hear, she whispered, "I'm so . . . so . . . disappointed, Albus." She had the beginning of tears in her eyes. "I never thought you were cruel. Never, never before today."

She let go then, and turned away, even though she was at the foot of the table and had nothing to look at but the doors to the Great Hall. From the other end of the table, Isolde's low-pitched voice drifted towards him. She'd been listening and watching—as eagle-eyed as Justin Johnstone had claimed.

"Potter," she said, "I know your family is all Gryffindor. Perhaps it's natural that you and your brother think a sharp tongue and a quick wand-hand make you strong. In Ravenclaw, we have quite a different attitude."

"And what is that?"

Her dark eyes studied his. "'Fools rush in,'" she answered. The quills quivered in her hair.

Albus helped himself to a piece of chocolate cake, but it didn't taste as good as he expected. Overhead, the infernal doves kept cooing, cooing, and across the table, Scorpius Malfoy sat and stared into his lap. He didn't speak for the rest of the meal.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


	6. Enter the Headmaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, I guess that we're not going to find out tonight," said a girl with short auburn hair who sat further up the table.
> 
> Albus tried to swallow the last of his chocolate cake. He was determined to finish every bite, even if it tasted lousy. Roxanne was watching him through her curls, but he wouldn't back down—not one bit. He wasn't sorry for what he'd said to Malfoy, and he wasn't going to make nice because of Roxanne. Or Isolde. Or anyone else in Ravenclaw. Maybe fools rush in, but bigger fools trust a snake in their midst.
> 
> "Well, he's gotta come soon," a second voice said. "What kind of headmaster misses the first day of school?"

"Well, I guess that we're not going to find out tonight," said a girl with short auburn hair who sat further up the table.

Albus tried to swallow the last of his chocolate cake. He was determined to finish every bite, even if it tasted lousy. Roxanne was watching him through her curls, but he wouldn't back down—not one bit. He wasn't sorry for what he'd said to Malfoy, and he wasn't going to make nice because of Roxanne. Or Isolde. Or anyone else in Ravenclaw. Maybe fools rush in, but bigger fools trust a snake in their midst.

"Well, he's gotta come soon," a second voice said. "What kind of headmaster misses the first day of school?"

_The new headmaster_. Suddenly, Albus remembered Molly's self-important voice back in that cramped compartment on the Hogwarts Express. She'd said that there was a major scandal brewing. Maybe she  _had_  known something after all. Molly eavesdropped on her dad as often as she could, either with Extendable Ears or—more disgustingly—Earwigs, which could crawl under doors and hide beneath the furniture.

When Albus thought of Molly's unorthodox methods of being "in-the-know," he wasn't so surprised that she'd been sorted into Slytherin. She  _was_  sneaky—but surely, she wasn't that bad. Was she? She was Albus's cousin, after all.

At that moment, the desserts and dirty plates vanished from the table. All around, people were rising. Professor McGonagall introduced the Hogwarts song, and the students started to sing. It wasn't like in Dumbledore's days, when chaos ruled and every student chose their own melody and tempo. Under the former headmistress, Hogwarts had returned to the original music. Hundreds of voices echoed through the Great Hall. The song created a beautiful illusion of unity, with only a few false notes—contributed by James and Fred, no doubt.

In the middle of the second verse, a silver streak burst through a wall and ran towards the High Table—a Patronus in the form of a wildcat. The students' voices dropped away until only James and Fred's remained. The Patronus hovered near McGonagall for a moment, then faded away.

She cleared her throat. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, "The headmaster has arrived."

Albus's brother and cousin fell silent as the entire crowd turned to the Great Hall's massive doors. Slowly, they swung open. Footsteps echoed as a tall, indistinct figure flitted in and out of the candlelight in the Entrance Hall. A second man followed close behind.

Despite his tardiness, the headmaster maintained a dignified pace. Albus strained to see who it was.

"Oh, Merlin," whispered Justin.

"What's he doing here?"

"I knew it! I knew it!" said Hannah Longbottom from her spot at the Hufflepuff table.

"I don't believe it. It cannae be."

"Bloody hell!"

"He can't be Headmaster! He just . . . can't!"

"Is that really him?"

"I told you! I told you so!" Molly's voice was the loudest of all.

The students' exclamations overlapped, but Albus didn't know why they were so excited. Maybe he needed glasses after all. The new headmaster remained an indistinct blur until he reached the ancient wooden doors. Then, a stately, broad-shouldered man emerged from the shadows.

It was the Minister for Magic—Kingsley Shacklebolt himself. Behind him stood Harry Potter.

Every pair of eyes in the room followed Shacklebolt as he strode towards the High Table. Every pair, that is, save one. Albus watched his father, who lingered near the door.

_His father had known!_  He had known about Headmistress McGonagall's ousting. He had known about Shacklebolt's defection to Hogwarts. He'd known all these things this very morning, when he'd sent Albus on his way. He had hidden the truth from Albus, when even Hannah Longbottom and the insufferable Molly were in on the secret.

Albus's finger nails dug into his palms. This morning, his dad had acted like any other parent sending his son to his first day of school, even though Hogwarts—no, the entire wizarding world!—was about to be turned upside down. Sure, his dad hadn't exactly  _lied_  to him, but he had hidden the truth. Didn't Albus deserve a warning?

Suddenly, an unwelcome thought crossed Albus's mind: his dad didn't trust him. He could see his father scanning the tables. He looked first towards Gryffindor, then at Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and finally, Ravenclaw. For a moment, two pairs of green eyes met. A beat passed, and Albus turned away—only to look directly at Scorpius Malfoy.

Malfoy had seen it all. He had seen Harry Potter look for his son everywhere but Ravenclaw. He had seen the carefully-schooled blankness on his father's face. He had seen Albus's hurt. And worst of all, Albus thought he could see  _sympathy_  in Malfoy's eyes—even after all the insults Albus had thrown at him only a few minutes before.

"What are you looking at?" Albus said. The last thing he wanted was Malfoy's pity.

"N-n-nothing," the other boy stammered, flushing.

Before Albus could think up a retort, a rich baritone rang out from the other side of the room. Shacklebolt had reached the High Table, shaken hands with McGonagall, and placed himself in front of the Headmaster's elaborate podium. He rested his large, sturdy hands on its edges and began to speak, not bothering to amplify his voice magically. It was rich and familiar.

"Greetings, students, colleagues, and—I hope—friends. I must apologize for my lateness, which was due to last minute business at the Ministry. You, children, are among the very first to learn of my decision to retire from politics." Shacklebolt said, his eyes crinkling. For the first time, Albus realized that the Minister's—no, the Headmaster's—hair, which he had grown during his nineteen years in office, was turning grey.

"It is appropriate, I believe," he continued, "that you should be the first. I have come to believe that  _you_ are our future—and the Ministry is our past. Besides," Shacklebolt smiled, "I could use a quiet retirement."

Albus thought he could see Professor McGonagall mouthing the words " _Quiet retirement, indeed_!" If Shacklebolt could hear her, he gave no indication other than inclining his head. He glanced from table to table, studying the faces of his students.

"Obviously, this year will bring changes, some large, and some small. We will have new teachers, new classes, and new rules. Hopefully, we will also have a new harmony at Hogwarts.

"As for the rules, the Forbidden Forest is, as always, off-limits to students unless they are chaperoned by Professor Hagrid. In addition, Hogsmeade trips will be restricted to students in their fifth year and above." At this announcement, a rumble of discontent began throughout the room. The Headmaster lifted a hand, and his new charges fell silent again.

"Most essentially,  _all_  students are forbidden from going within one hundred meters of the border of any unplottable regions. This means that you will not go near the edges of the Hogwarts campus and you will not approach the outskirts of Hogsmeade. If you should cross into these areas—even on campus—you must  _not_  perform any kind of magic. I strongly advise you to follow these guidelines even when you are on break.

"Now that I have solidified my popularity with my new constituents," Shacklebolt said with an ironic smile, "I bid you goodnight. Rest well, for tomorrow will be a challenging day."

With these words, Shacklebolt stepped away from the podium, nodded to the faculty, and swept out of the room, with Harry trailing behind.

"Somehow," whispered Roxanne, her ire momentarily forgotten, "I doubt Headmaster Shacklebolt's password is going to be 'Lemon Drops.'" The auburn-haired third-year responded bitterly that Shacklebolt was much more likely to choose 'ball-and-chain.' She'd been looking forward to Hogsmeade.

* * *

Scorpius's mind raced as Justin Johnstone and Eleanor MacDougal led the first-years towards Ravenclaw Tower. He barely attended to their warnings about vanishing steps or the landmark portraits that would help him find his way back to the Great Hall from the dorm.

Of course, Scorpius was surprised by the new headmaster's identity. Not that he expected to know Ministry secrets. His father wasn't welcome there, and his grandma was circumspect whenever she returned. Hogwarts just didn't seem like an ideal place for retirement. After all, two of the last three headmasters had died violently.

He was less surprised by Headmaster Shacklebolt's edict that the students stay away from the outskirts of unplottable places. Grandma Narcissa had spent all summer warning Scorpius to avoid the perimeter of Malfoy Manor, control any strong emotions that might bring on a fit of accidental magic, and avoid any fool-hardy wand-waving lest he cast a spell or send off sparks.

Scorpius hadn't had the heart to tell her how unlikely that was to happen.

What  _had_  shocked Scorpius was the hurt on Albus Potter's face when his father looked for his son everywhere but Ravenclaw. Nor could he believe the blankness on Harry Potter's face—unreadable and guarded. Did he question Albus's intelligence or studiousness? Or was Potter so prejudiced that he couldn't stomach the idea of his son being in any house but his own?

Scorpius pushed that idea away. It wasn't fair to assume. Instead, he imagined what it would have been like if his own dad had been the one standing there. Scorpius would have been able to read  _his_  father's expression when he saw Scorpius with the Ravenclaws.  _I must write home as soon as possible_ , he told himself. He had to be the first to let his parents know. Plenty of the family's former colleagues had children who would be delighted to spread gossip about a non-Slytherin Malfoy.

First thing in the morning, he would get directions to the owlry and send a letter home.

Only when the prefects stopped their charges did Scorpius look up. They were amassed around the graceful curves of a spiral staircase. There was a bronze eagle on the door in front of them. Then, the knocker spoke what sounded like a brief, rhyming poem. Scorpius recognized it as a riddle—and not a very difficult one—but before he could answer it, Eleanor MacDougal did. The door swung open.

_It's for the best_ , Scorpius told himself.  _The last thing I need to do tonight is draw more attention to myself._ Indeed, his gut told him that the smartest thing for him to do was to listen to the prefects' instructions and go—as fast as he could—to bed. He could hide there, behind the heavy curtains of a four-poster, and think of a way to undo the damage he'd done.

At the moment, Eleanor was explaining the riddle-system of entering the Ravenclaw dorm and pointing out the way to the dormitory. Remembering the breathtaking view of candles in the tower that he'd glimpsed from the lake, Scorpius felt some of his anxiety drain away. This place was his home, and no matter how many mistakes he'd made, he had a chance to prove himself. To show the world that Scorpius Hyperion A—Well, that Scorpius could never be compared with his dad.

His father had failed. Scorpius would succeed.

* * *

Absorbed in examining the Ravenclaw common room, Albus didn't notice Malfoy creeping off. Instead, he listened to the speculation and gossip that reached a fever-pitch as soon as the prefects withdrew to their own corner near the fire.

What he wanted most of all was to confer with Roxanne, but his cousin had defected to a small table near a wall of towering bookcases. She was accompanied by Claire Johnstone and Charlotte Clearwater. The trio appeared to be engaged in a serious discussion. Albus wandered nearby, just close enough to hear Claire telling her new classmates all that she'd learned about Hogwarts from her "trollish" brother. Roxanne looked at her cousin, but didn't invite him to pull up a chair.

_Ouch_. After pretending to peruse the books, Albus walked away. His other classmates had already broken into groups. Calliope Tinker, her dark-skin, brown hair, and blue eyes illuminated by firelight, sat cross-legged near the hearth with a book in her lap. As Albus passed, he was surprised that instead of a spell-book, she was reading poetry. Lysander and Asclepius were arguing about the ethics of using magical animals for healing purposes. Hal Dursley, Kiera Lestrange, and the two third-year girls who'd been speculating about Headmaster Shacklebolt's tardiness were seated in armchairs and a couch that stood under a cracked statue of what must have been Rowena Ravenclaw.

Albus shivered at the reminder of the war that had almost destroyed Hogwarts.

"Hey! Hullo there," came a voice from the circle. "There's room here, um—" The mop-haired boy shook his head and suddenly seemed nervous. "Um—"

"Albus," whispered the girl sitting beside him.

"Oh, yeah. Albus. Have a seat?"

Albus sat. He looked at the two third-years—whom he had no doubt Hal had invited over, too—and waited for them to introduce themselves. By now everyone—except, it seemed, Hal Dursley—knew who Albus was without asking.

"Albus, meet Buffy Hawthorne," Kiera said, as the girl with the short, auburn hair inclined her head, "and Siobhan Byrne." The second girl smiled softly. Buffy commented dryly that at least this time, she wouldn't have to explain that she was  _not_  another Weasley. She leaned back in her chair, one leg slung over its arm, and returned to their interrupted conversation. "Strange sorting this year, eh, Siobhan?"

"Mmm-hm. But me Mam will be pleased—Ethan being in Gryffindor, just like Killian." She spoke with a soft Irish accent as she twisted a lock of her hair around a finger.

"That's not what I meant. Everything's mixed up. Something's wrong with that infernal hat."

"Maybe something's right with it."

"Bollocks."

"Buffy!"

"Well, things just don't happen this way around here. There are certain  _traditions_."

Once again, Albus's mind wandered. Of course it had been odd. Not only had he and Scorpius Malfoy been sorted into Ravenclaw, Molly and Marie were in Slytherin. That sweet-looking, freckled waif had been sent to Slytherin, too. Georgiana Goyle was in Hufflepuff, while Grace Bulstrode-Boot and Bianca Greengrass-Zabini were infiltrating Gryffindor. Places in Gryffindor that rightly belonged to him, or Roxanne, or even Molly. And what about that strange looking girl—Artemisia—whose had name had upset the faculty?

Albus felt a headache coming on. No wonder, after the day he'd had. Rubbing his temples, he excused himself. No doubt Hal Dursley—who had regained his cool—could entertain the rest of his companions. Albus could not. All he wanted was to climb into bed and sleep. In the morning, he would be able to think clearly. He'd find Rose and the rest of his cousins, and they'd talk things over.  _Maybe it will be like old days_ , he thought, as he climbed the spiral staircase.

All thoughts of returning to normalcy evaporated when he opened the door to the first-years' room. Someone had come up already. Someone he could hear breathing behind heavy bed curtains. Someone whose trunk—which looked about thirty years old—was emblazoned in green and silver and adorned with a dragon clasp.

It didn't take long for Albus to conclude that Scorpius Malfoy had pushed ahead of everyone else to claim the best bed in the room. Tucked into an alcove, it was the most private and secluded four-poster. Beside it was an enormous bay window, no doubt with a spectacular view of the lake and the mountains. Right under the window stood a sturdy desk, with quills, ink, and parchment carefully laid out.

_What a git. What a selfish, entitled little git_ , Albus thought as he threw himself down on another bed. He didn't bother dragging his trunk over, nor did he take off his robes. Despite his pounding headache, he fell asleep.

It never occurred to Albus that—without a moment's hesitation—he'd taken the second-best bed in the room for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


	7. Dawn Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cool breeze ruffled Scorpius's hair as he stood outside the Owlery. He lingered there, listening to the drowsy birds inside.
> 
> Sending his letter—and staying out of everyone's way—had been foremost on his mind when he'd reached the dormitory the night before. He had sought out the most secluded spot in the room. The bed in the alcove was far from the fireplace, and because it was next to a large window, it was sure to be cold in the winter. On the other hand, he had reasoned, I can disappear there. Three stone walls surrounded the bed, so when he drew the curtains, he could seal himself away from the world.

A cool breeze ruffled Scorpius's hair as he stood outside the Owlery. He lingered there, listening to the drowsy birds inside.

Sending his letter—and staying out of everyone's way—had been foremost on his mind when he'd reached the dormitory the night before. He had sought out the most secluded spot in the room. The bed in the alcove was far from the fireplace, and because it was next to a large window, it was sure to be cold in the winter.  _On the other hand_ , he had reasoned,  _I can disappear there_. Three stone walls surrounded the bed, so when he drew the curtains, he could seal himself away from the world.

But he had to do his duty first. As he watched the sun rise over the mountains, Scorpius remembered how carefully he'd unpacked his father's trunk, laying out his parchment, ink, and quills just the way he liked them. Scorpius tore up half a dozen drafts of his letter before he was satisfied:

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_The Sorting Hat put me in Ravenclaw. I'll do my best to honor the Malfoy name._

_Scorpius_

_Sometimes, simplicity is the best option._ The less he wrote, the better. Scorpius couldn't tell his father about the damage he'd already done. He couldn't write that the Head Girl distrusted him, and he couldn't say that Albus Potter hated him. As tears sprang to his eyes, Scorpius had heard a plaintive mew. Something was batting at his leg, trying to climb his robes.  _Lysander Scamander's kitten, all alone in a strange place_. Thinking his housemate wouldn't appreciate Scorpius touching his pet, he detached the mewling creature and set it down.

It was a persistent little thing, however, and followed him around as he changed out of his robe. Soon after Scorpius had holed himself up in his new bed, the kitten climbed the bed-curtains, curled up above his head, and purred Scorpius to sleep. When Scorpius woke, he was alone again. Shivering, Scorpius had dressed, retrieved his letter from under his pillow, and snuck out of the room. None of the other boys stirred.

After asking various portraits the way to the Owlrey, Scorpius had stepped out of the castle into the dawning light. Usually, things looked better to him in the morning. Today, they didn't.  _I might as well get this over with_ , he thought. When he went into the Owlrey, he felt dozens of curious eyes turn to him.  _Hooo, hooo_ , cooed the birds. "Who, indeed?" he thought, looking around. Some of the owls were magnificent creatures—the gifts of indulgent parents. Others were scrawny and old. They were the poorer students'. None of them belonged to Scorpius.

"Would one of you carry a letter to Malfoy Manor?" The owls blinked sleepily. Morning was not as popular with them as it was with Scorpius. He held out a hand. "Please?"

Finally, one of the brown school owls flew to Scorpius, landing on his shoulder. It nibbled his hair as he tied the note to its feet. By the time the bird flew off into the sunrise, the rest of the brood had nodded off again. Suddenly, Scorpius realized his knees were shaking because he'd eaten so little the day before. How early could he eat?  _Breakfast_ ,he thought, turning back to the castle's door,  _before anyone else is awake_.

* * *

For once, fortune was kind. When Scorpius reached the Great Hall, it was almost empty. A few students sat at the house tables. Victoria Frobisher, his head-of-house, was the only teacher present. Best of all, on Sundays breakfast was more flexible than during weekdays. When Scorpius took his seat—the same one he'd picked the night before—a plate appeared before him. He ate fast, hoping to withdraw before his classmates trickled in. So far, his only companions were Caleb Keselman, surrounded by sleepy Gryffindor prefects, Artemisia Gaunt and another Slytherin girl, and a handful of older students, none of whom were familiar to him.

The truth was, Scorpius didn't know many children his age. Those that he did, he wished he didn't. For example, he knew his cousins, Blake and Bianca Greengrass-Zabini, well. Damocles Slughorn, with his perpetual squint and endless bluster, had occasionally entered the Malfoy's social circle, as had Patrick Parkinson, who was somehow related to one of his father's childhood . . . acquaintances. There was also Georgiana Goyle and Grace Bulstrode-Boot.

Only Blake and Bianca had visited the manor with any regularity. However, with so few callers, Astoria Malfoy took what support she could get. She loved Aunt Daphne, and Scorpius couldn't begrudge her that, no more than he could begrudge his father his library or the strange fits he sometimes had. Whenever possible, Scorpius spent Aunt Daphne's visits locked in his room, reading what Blake called his "ridiculous, pointless" novels.

_If only Mum had taken me to Diagon Alley with her_ , Scorpius thought, wistfully.  _If only I'd been able to take part in the annual holiday Pageant, like the other wizards' children. If only I'd been invited to their birthday parties. If only_.. . Scorpius sipped his pumpkin juice. He knew that no effort on his mother's part could have healed the breech between the Malfoys and the rest of the wizarding world. They were on their own: Narcissa, Draco, Astoria, and Scorpius. The Malfoys versus the world. The righteous against the wrong-doers.

Someone's hand touched Scorpius's shoulder, startling him.

"I'm not going to bite," Professor Frobisher said. Examining his face, she frowned. "Why, Mr. Malfoy, you look like you've been attacked by an Amazonian Blood Leach!"

Scorpius forced a smile. "That bad?"

"That bad."

"Yeah, I guess so," Scorpius said, echoing the casual phrasing he'd heard from Hal. "I didn't sleep well."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Scorpius replied that he just wanted to finish eating and leave.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Headmaster Shacklebolt wants us all to be present after breakfast. There is business to attend to. Is there anything else, Mr. Malfoy?"

He thought for a moment. "You . . . you . . ." He hesitated. "You could call me 'Scorpius' instead of 'Mr. Malfoy.'"

Professor Frobisher shook her head. "Against school policy. A fine genie I am turning out to be," she said. "Two out of three wishes gone, and I can't grant either. Shall we try once more?"

Scorpius looked down at his pumpkin juice and hesitated. Then, he decided to ask for one last, small thing.

"I'd really like a cup of—of—coffee," he whispered. He knew it was a pointless wish, of course. Things like coffee were not to be found at Hogwarts.

Surprise flitted across the professor's face. "Coffee?" she echoed. "Aren't you a little young for coffee?"

"Mum thinks so, but I drink it with Dad when she's not at home."

Professor Frobisher looked thoughtful, then her eyes twinkled. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I am a genie after all. I will grant your three wishes—imperfectly. Come. We'll be back before the assembly."

Professor Frobisher ushered Scorpius into her office and invited him to sit. "In this room," she said, "I can call you whatever I like. You can be Scorpius, and I can—if you wish—be Victoria. Just between us, understood?"

He nodded. As he perched on the edge of his seat, she pulled a brown bag out of her desk drawer.

"My secret stash," Frobisher said. Scorpius noticed that although she used magic to heat the water, she prepared coffee the Muggle way, with grounds and a French press. As it steeped, Scorpius studied the room at the base of Ravenclaw Tower. The professor's desk was heavy, oak, and well-worn, like his father's. A thick blue and bronze carpet covered the floor. The walls were hung with tapestries and carpets embroidered in red and gold.

"They keep out the cold," Frobisher explained. "The breeze from the lake is brutal during the winter."

She pressed a mug into Scorpius's hand and took a seat across from him. He could see his reflection in the liquid. Pale, unremarkable face. A sprinkling of freckles on his nose. Dirty-blond hair that his mum thought might turn brown when he grew up. Dark blue eyes with darker blue circles beneath them. He  _did_ look like he'd had the life sucked out of him.

After a silence, Professor Frobisher spoke. "Do you like Quiddich?"

"No, Professor. I don't care for flying."

"Mmm," Professor Frobisher nodded, "When I was a student, I tried out for Keeper, but I turned down the position because it would take too much time from my studies. Your father was a good Seeker, as I recall. An excellent student, too. He had a way with words, as well as a prodigious talent for complicated spellwork. Most original." She looked thoughtful. "Of course, he was several years younger than me. I didn't know him well."

_Always my father._ Scorpius watched the professor until she reminded him not to let his coffee get cold. He took another gulp.

"I wasn't here for the war," she continued, "I was studying Charms abroad. My parents' idea—and Professor Flitwick's. You can never learn too much."

Another pause. Finally, Professor Frobisher tried a different tactic to draw her student out. "Your grandmother is a hero," she observed, "Without her, defeating Voldemort would have been impossible."

Scorpius nearly dropped his mug.

"Are you surprised to hear me say that, Scorpius?"

"It's just—not many people remember that part of the story."

"I read the news—and the transcripts from the trials. Plus, I was lucky. Being far away may have given me a—different perspective. What will your family think of you being in Ravenclaw?"

Scorpius said he'd find out soon.

"The hat took a long time to decide what house to put you in. A lot of people would like to know what it had to say."

He looked away again. He didn't like the implied question, but was afraid to evade it. Finally, Scorpius murmured that what the Sorting Hat said to him was private.

"Of course it is. I won't press you. But I am worried for you—more than my other students. I worry about their reactions to you. I'm worried that you will feel out of place. And I am worried that you don't  _want_ to be here."

At that, Scorpius exclaimed that he had wanted to be in Ravenclaw for as long as he could remember.

"Well, that's one less thing for me to worry about," Professor Frobisher chuckled. "I wonder—will you be my next star pupil, Scorpius? I've had a lot of students over the years, and I can see a certain light in your eyes—when you actually look up, that is. You can learn a lot from people's eyes. If you have your father's brains and a bit of drive, it won't be out of your reach."

"No, Professor. I'm sorry, Professor. I mean, I'd like to. I just don't think I  _can_ be."

"Why not?"

"I like theory," he said cautiously, causing her to smile. "I like reading and writing, too. I've memorized entire books, and I think I'll do well on papers." Then, he decided to tell Victoria Frobisher part of the truth. "I just don't think I'm cut out to be a  _real_ wizard," he confessed.

Her eyes narrowed. "We'll see, Scorpius. Classes haven't started, so it's too soon to tell. I'll be keeping my eye on you, too." Seeing her charge start to close up again, she quickly added, "Don't worry, I can be objective. I know what it's like to be on the outside looking in."

He relaxed enough to drink some more of his coffee, which he was clutching in both hands. Then, her last words sunk in.

"How can you be an outsider, Professor?" he asked. "You're a teacher  _and_ the head of a house."

"Easily. Didn't you guess?" she asked, gesturing at her tapestries. "When I was a student, I was in Gryffindor."

Before Scorpius had time to digest this fact, his teacher told him to finish his coffee. "I have been your genie for as long as I can. Now, we'll go hear Shacklebolt's proclamations. Remember—my door is always open, and in this office you can be 'Scorpius.' Outside, you'll remain 'Mr. Malfoy.'

"After all, I wouldn't want to be accused of favoritism, as some others have been." Scorpius thought he saw the elegant woman wink as she led him away.

* * *

_Scorpius Malfoy can't even get through one night without causing trouble_.Though Albus had woken up late, he'd soon learned from his roommates that Malfoy had snuck out of the room before dawn.

"I was half-awake 'cause Widget was walking on my face," Lysander told them as he pulled on his robe, "I heard Malfoy go out."

In the spirit of investigation, Albus pushed back Malfoy's bed curtains. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. _Evidence, of course_.  _But of what?_ Then he saw Scorpius's pillow.

"If I were you, Lys, I'd watch out for your kitten. Look."

Lysander walked over. "So? His pillow's got fur on it. Cat hair gets everywhere."

"Malfoys aren't known for being kind to animals."

The boy's brown eyes widened behind his glasses. "You don't think he'd hurt Widget, do you?"

"Of course he wouldn't," said Hal, who had just finished just washing up.

"How would  _you_ know?" demanded Asclepius.

"Not the type. Not that I like him much right now. Think he's a downright judgmental git, but he wouldn't hurt a fly. Maybe someone's  _feelings_ , but that's different."

Albus asked how Hal could know anything about Scorpius Malfoy.

"I just know," he responded, then told the other boys about how the Malfoys had helped him and his dad in Diagon Alley—and how they'd told them all about how the wizarding world worked.

"Malfoys hanging out with Muggles?" exclaimed Albus. "Impossible."

Hal shrugged. "Maybe they were trying to be nice. Though Scorpius  _did_ say some strange things."

"Like what?"

"Like some wizards are better than others."

Lysander snorted, "Typical."

Albus furrowed his brow and wondered aloud why the Malfoys would be friendly to the Dursleys.

"Maybe they know about us," Hal suggested.

"Us?" Albus looked at Hal blankly, and the other boy turned red.

"About our dads."

"What are you talking about?" A note of irritation crept into Albus's voice. He was more interested in Malfoy than some stranger's father, whoever he was.

Hal stumbled as he missed one of his pant legs. He didn't say anything else.

"One thing Malfoy got right," Albus mused. "Some wizards  _are_ better than others. We'll need to be extra careful who we associate with since the sorting messed everything up."

Lysander agreed. He suggested that Hal stick with him and Albus to make sure he didn't go wrong. That's when the rest of the Ravenclaw boys saw Hal's stubborn side for the first time.

"Thanks for your concern," he said icily, "But I choose my own friends."

By the time Albus, Asclepius, and Lysander had made it downstairs, Hal was already talking with Kiera on one side and Buffy and Siobhan on the other. Roxanne, Claire, and Charlotte formed a tight knot next to them. Lysander and Asclepius were once again bickering.

As Albus took the seat next to Lysander, his eyes wandered to the Gryffidor table. Rose and Louis were sitting with Fred and James, away from the other first years. Louis, as usual, looked languid and faintly amused. He was acting unaware of the glances he was getting from the other girls and boys—even the older ones. For the first time, Albus wondered if his cousin had inherited some of his mother's Veela charm, even if it wasn't supposed to work that way. Rose was pressing her lips together, her hair flattened on one side like she had forgotten to brush it. She looked at Albus coldly.

_She's still angry with me_ , Albus realized.  _How can I make her understand?_

Calliope sat down, so absorbed in her book that she hardly attended to her meal. Then,Malfoy appeared, trailing behind Professor Frobisher. Breakfast was almost over, and Malfoy had missed the entire meal—undoubtedly being berated by their Head of House.  _She won't like that_ , Albus thought.  _Trouble on the first day, and she even missed her brunch. I wonder how many detentions he got . . ._

A loss of house points didn't matter to Albus. The sooner Malfoy showed his colors, the better for everyone—especially Hal. He seemed a nice enough bloke, but he was too rigid for his own good. He couldn't even take the most kindly-meant advice. Soon, he'd be sucked into Malfoy's web—as his big, burly bodyguard, no doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.
> 
> ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.


End file.
